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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345138" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Collected Poems (1994)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lying in bed this morning, just a year<br>Since our first days, I was trying to assess -<br>Against my natural caution - by desire<br>And how the fact outdid it, my happiness:<br>And finding the awkwardness of keeping clear<br>Numberless flamingo thoughts and memories,<br>My dear and dearest husband, in this kind<br>Of rambling letter, I'll disburse my mind.<br>Technical problems have always given me trouble:<br>A child stiff at the fiddle, my ear had praise<br>And my intention only; so, as was natural,<br>Coming to verse, I hid my lack of ease<br>By writing only as I thought myself able,<br>Escaped the crash of the bold by salt originalities.<br>This is one reason for writing far from one's heart; <br>A better is, that one fears it may be hurt.<br>By an inadequate style one fears to cheapen<br>Glory, and that it may be blurred if seen<br>Through the eye's used centre, not the new margin.<br>It is the hardest thing with love to burn<br>And write it down, for what was the real passion<br>Left to its own words will seem trivial and thin.<br>We can in making love look face to face:<br>In poetry, crooked, and with no embrace.<br>Tolstoy's hero found in his newborn child<br>Only another aching, vulnerable part; <br>And it is true our first joy hundredfold<br>Increased our dangers, pricking in every street<br>In accidents and wars: yet this is healed<br>Not by reason, but with an endurance of delight<br>Since our marriage, which, once thoroughly known,<br>Is known for good, though in time it were gone.<br>You, hopeful baby with the erring toes,<br>Grew, it seems to me, to a natural pleasure<br>In the elegant strict machine, from the abstruse<br>Science of printing to the rich red and azure<br>It plays on hoardings, rusty industrial noise,<br>All these could add to your inherited treasure:<br>A poise which many wish for, writing the machine<br>Poems of laboured praise, but few attain.<br>And loitered up your childhood to my arms.<br>I would hold you there for ever, and know<br>Certainly now, that though the vacuum looms<br>Quotidian dullness, in these beams don't die<br>They're wrong who say that happiness never comes<br>On earth, that was spread here its crystal sea.<br>And since you, loiterer, did compose this wonder,<br>Be with me still, and may God hold his thunder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Barbara+Ridler">Anne Barbara Ridler</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345138" data-title="Collected Poems (1994) de Anne Barbara Ridler" data-description="Lying in bed this morning, just a year
Since our first days, I was trying to assess -
Against my natural caution - by desire
And how the fact outdid it, my happiness:
And finding the awkwardness of keeping clear
Numberless flamingo thoughts and me..."></div>
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